For the last 36 hours the collapse, or more accurately the deflation, of Lehman Brothers has left markets around the world in a state of frenzy.

Last night the Hang Seng Index lost 1000 points; the FTSE, over the last two days has lost around 7%. With the markets reporting record volatility, many traders will be keeping their powder dry, waiting for more reliable moments to strike.

Others will be following in the shadows of Dick Fuld the CEO of Lehman, by taking huge risks, and making or losing huge sums. If investment bankers have the capacity for sympathy it is surely for fellow investment bankers. Although one banker's gain is most likely to another's detriment, there must be a familial understanding of the emotions of going through the highs and lows of gambling for a living. But do they deserve such sentiment?

The papers today had a reality-TV style theme to their reporting of Lehman-gate. To paraphrase: "It's awful; 158 years old; terrible; employees don't know when they will be paid; tut-tut; ah well they nearly got Merrill Lynch too; probably going to get worse." Then some small section of some small article deduces that some untouchables (in the western "old-boys" sense, rather than the Indian caste sense) must have done some serious lying for things to have gotten as bad as this.

Once it is realised that this collapse was inevitable; that Lehman's previous performance was due to its high-risk nature and that the "value of your investments and can go up as well as down" as adverts have told us for years, there is only one newsworthy part left of the story – the human side.

One particularly prominent story involves the heart-breaking news of a dog-walker in Kensington whose business has suffered instantly, because ex-Lehman lemons now have the time to walk their dogs themselves. On this evidence alone I hereby call for massive emergency tax relief on all investment bankers. Although there are 26,000 losing their jobs at a time of uncertainty, most of the people for whom you should feel sympathy will find employment immediately. The support staff, which must number a huge proportion of the recently-unemployed mass, will likely soon find work, thanks to their transferable skills and experience of operating under enormous pressure.

As usual, however we are coerced into feeling sorry for the big fallers: the executives with tens of millions of worthless stock options. Which would be awful for them and their families were it not for the nauseating salaries they had earned up until today; I for one expect these investment bankers to know what to do with their money. One panicked former trader noted that much of the value of these stocks had already been spent on holiday homes and cars. So maybe they'll have to cope with just the eight-bed in Surrey, the fleet of his'n'hers Mercedes, and an A-Class for Petunia. A young prospective trader, whose career has been – temporarily at least – aborted, told of a joke he heard from a French friend: "Lehman employees were putting only £5 on their canteen cards so they would not lose any money." Oh, the French (t)wit.

For the last 15 years Fuld has been the guy to work for. His risk-taking brought untold riches to his employees. He was legendary for spreading the wealth that he created around his staff at the bank. Today his portrait outside the Lehman office is covered in messages of anger, quotes of Fuld saying, "Lehman is well capitalised".

The messages I find most bizarre are the ones accusing him of greed, as if greed is such a repulsive, unnecessary requirement by bankers for their leader. His ex-employees who have basked in his golden shower for a decade-and-a-half obviously don't feel sorry for him. I find it hard to feel sorry for wealthy, well-educated, ambitious bankers who are now turning on the man that got them where they are.